


heaven is a place on earth

by jad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Tarot: A DeanCas Anthology (Supernatural), and with waffles!, but I swear it ends well, it hurts a lot, it hurts at first, suit of swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jad/pseuds/jad
Summary: The five times Cas left (and the one time he didn't).
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	heaven is a place on earth

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the Dean/Cas anthology Tarot, Suit of Swords. Many thanks to the mods and community for putting together such an amazing project, the hardcover anthology is a truly treasured part of my bookshelf and full of some of the most amazing artwork and fanfic this fandom has to offer.
> 
> I was informed that now, several years later, the collaborators have agreed we can post these online to share with anyone who missed the anthology project or simply didn't have the means to participate. 
> 
> As always, my epic love and gratitude to my best friends and betas, Remmyme and Vaudelin, for helping me get this done and submitted into print.

**heaven is a place on earth**

. : .

  
_2009_

"You're angry."

Yeah, Dean's angry. Sam's gone, Cas is about to be, and Dean... he doesn't even know what.

"You got what you asked for. No Paradise, no Hell. Just more of the same."

What hurts the most is, it's true. Dean got exactly what he asked for. For the first time _ever_ , he got what he wanted. They defeated the Devil, they saved the world. He even got Cas and Bobby back. So why is he so _angry?_

"What would you rather have, peace or freedom?"

 _I'd rather have Sam_ , Dean thinks. _I'd rather have you_.

He doesn't say it, though, and it doesn't matter; Cas doesn't hang around to find out. He could say it anyway, pray it so maybe the bastard would be forced to listen, but what the fuck does it matter? It's not like Cas will come back.

So instead Dean says, "You really suck at goodbyes, you know that?"

  


  
_2011_

"You gotta look at me, man."

Cas stops scrambling and meets his eyes, and that's when Dean knows that there's no hope. He tries, anyway.

Cas at least has the decency not to lie to his face this time. He's got nothing but excuses, and granted, they're good ones, but not good enough. Crowley this, Raphael that — Dean just doesn't understand. It's _complicated_.

Only it's not. It's not complicated at all. 

"It sounds so simple when you say it like that," Cas tells him. "But where were you when I needed to hear it?"

"I was there," Dean says. He wants to be angry. He really does. But he's just tired. Tired and fucking disappointed at how unsurprised he is. "Where were _you?_ "

If it were anyone else, they would have killed him by now. Dean can't do it, and he isn't sure Sam can, either — but Bobby will if they won't. Dean's almost thankful when the demons come, because he has no idea what to do next. 

"It's not too late," he tries. "Damnit, Cas. We can fix this!"

They have to. It's the only way Dean can fucking survive this.

"Dean, it's _not broken_."

 _Yeah, it is_ , Dean wants to tell him. _We've been broken from the start_.

He runs instead.

  


  
_2014_

Dean's on his knees. He's _begging_. He's never pleaded for anything in his life, not even when Sam died. But he's doing it now, hoping to God or whoever the fuck might be listening that somewhere in there, his Cas can hear him.

When the blows stop coming he collapses. The pain is only eclipsed by the tablet, glowing a blinding white, holy light. When the light fades and Cas reaches for him, Dean flinches, expecting more pain. A gentle palm touches his cheek instead; the pain dissipates along with the evidence of what caused it.

Cas tells him about Naomi. It's the first time he hears the name. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Well, what broke the connection?"

He asks because he can't believe it. Maybe if Cas puts it into words, then it will make sense. Maybe then Dean will _have_ to believe it.

"I don't know," Cas says.

Right.

Cas has to protect the tablet. From Naomi. Sure, they can do that.

"And from you," Cas says.

At this point, Dean isn't really surprised. He is surprised how much it hurts, though.

  


  
_2015_

The first thing Dean sees when he kicks down the door is the woman plunge an angel blade deep into Castiel's chest. He doesn't even blink, grabs the first blade his fingers close around and goes for the kill, doesn't stop until he gets it.

After she crumples to the floor, reality falls with it; human or not, that was a killing blow. Cas is — 

_No._

"Sam, he's gone."

Saying it out loud doesn't help. Dean just stares. He's too late. It's like Sam in Cold Oak all over again. Why is he _always_ too late?

He doesn't know how to describe what he's feeling.

 _Helpless_. That's the word.

Ezekiel doesn't ask permission. Maybe Cas was a friend of his. Or maybe the angel can see it written all over Dean's face, all over his goddamn soul, how important this asshole is. 

When Cas blinks up at him, Dean can breathe again. He takes a minute to let the air in, let his heart pick up a normal sinus rhythm. Jesus fucking christ.

There's so many things he wants to say: _What the fuck? How dare you. God, you're an asshole. I thought I lost you. Again. I love you, you fucking idiot._

" _Never_ do that again," he orders.

"All right," Cas agrees, bewildered.

Dean should know by now Cas is really good at making promises he can't keep.

  


  
_2018_

Dean's running on autopilot, these days. Keeping busy, always moving. Like a shark, _just keep swimming_ ; it's move or drown.

Cas said he didn't want to go — _then why do you keep leaving?_ — that he had to, like he always had to, that he'd be back once he found Jack, once he found Kelly, once he found Lucifer. It was temporary, always temporary, right up until it wasn't. 

No warning, no excuses, not so much as a goddamn goodbye. Just a blast of white light, wings cauterized to glass in the sand, and Dean on his knees.

_Just keep swimming._

"You know what? Those bodies have gotta be buried in the house somewhere."

"Okay, so we check it. Top to bottom."

"There's no time."

"What are you doing?"

Good question; what the hell _is_ he doing?

"I'm gonna find out where those bodies are buried."

"So...?"

"So, I'm gonna ask 'em."

"What?" Yeah, _what?_ "How?"

"Easy."

 _Easy_.

_Dean, you're talking about killing yourself._

It _is_ easy, and he doesn't hesitate, doesn't give Sam time to argue. He feels bad about that for a heartbeat.

The second the needle pierces his heart, everything stops hurting. It's really not so bad.

  


  
_2019_

The dread slips neatly into the slot left empty by the fading afterglow. 

Dean's tired. It's been a long week. Hell, it's been a long _decade_. It's the first time since he can remember — the first time since Cas came into his life in a blast of white light — that there's no overarching threat of Heaven and Hell. The archangels are gone, Crowley's dead, Hell's in chaos, and Heaven... well, who gives a fuck. 

He certainly doesn't.

Cas might, and that weighs the dread down, burrowing it deep in his chest. He can see the angel's shadow against the wall, wild hair more askew than usual, a warm weight propped against his back. Prickly cheeks brush against his shoulder like fine-grain sandpaper, soft lips chasing the line of his bicep. Dean sighs and leans back into the touch. Between the light touch and the warm slide of smooth skin, Dean desperately tries not to fall asleep. Not just yet. He can count on one hand the times they've had like this, where there's no urgency, no emergency, no time to spare to just relax and occupy the same space.

Mumbled voices pass by on the other side of the door. There's so many people here, now; he's been having some trouble separating those he used to know from those he's getting to know, learning to love them again. One massive family of hunters so accustomed to war that peace puts them on edge. 

He wonders how many of them know what him and Cas have become; if they were smart enough to survive, it won't take them long to figure it out. It's the kind of thing that used to keep him awake for hours, staring at motel ceilings late at night. 

Dean briefly wonders when he stopped giving a shit. Doesn't care enough to think about it.

A hand snakes its way around his waist, fingers smoothing over his hip, a warm palm coming to rest against his stomach. Dean leans back, wants to stay awake and enjoy it while he can. But his eyelids are heavy, and the warmth draped around him heavier still, wet lips dragging a damp trail up his spine. A nose nuzzles in the short hair at the back of his head, and Dean stops fighting as the hot breath against his neck drags him under like a riptide.

. : .

The other side of the bed is cold when he wakes up.

Dean takes his time getting vertical. It's not like he's in a hurry to get anywhere, for once. He doesn't bother to change out of the sweatpants and t-shirt that serve as pajamas, just brushes his teeth and debates shaving for half a minute before deciding, fuck it. He's earned a few days off.

The hallway is empty, but full of echoes from people up and about doing things. He nearly collides with some kid on the way to the kitchen, and steps out of the way when two women open the door.

"I'm just saying, he's kinda cute," Dean hears one say. 

"Don't think they swing that way," the other points out. "Or any way, I mean. He's an _angel._ "

"So?" the first asks, and Dean should walk past and get on with breakfast, but his bare feet seem to be glued to the floor. "Can't hurt to find out, right?"

"It might," Dean says before his brain catches it. 

The woman turns to blink at him, gives him a studying glance. Dean isn't sure what his expression is, exactly, but it can't be pleasant. "Oh, um. Are you two...?"

"Yeah," he says it like a challenge, and immediately regrets it when she winces. 

"Sorry," she says. "My bad."

They both keep quiet as they slip past him, cutting around the corner before bursting into a whispered conversation. Dean rolls his eyes, biting down the bitter _he's never around, though, so what the fuck does it matter if I'm the hot gossip of the hour_ as he enters the kitchen.

He pulls up short at the scene of Sam and Cas at the counter, covered in flour and wrestling with a waffle iron. 

"I told you it was too much," Sam says as the batter bursts out the sides of the iron, huge globs dripping onto the counter. "They don't all have to be perfectly waffle-shaped."

The cold look Cas gives him suggests that they do, in fact, all have to be perfectly waffle-shaped.

"Um," Dean says, because seriously, what the fuck? 

"Hey," Sam says brightly, entirely too happy for someone who looks like they've lost a fight with the Pillsbury Doughboy. "Hope you're hungry. He's made enough to feed everyone in the bunker. Twice."

"Based on my calculation of how many calories you and your brother consume on a daily basis, this is barely enough to satisfy the two of you," Cas corrects, but he looks up to smile briefly at Dean. "Hello, Dean. I know you prefer whip cream, but all we have is syrup."

He shoves a plate laden with waffles drowning in syrup into Dean's midsection; Dean grips it on reflex.

"The kids got hold of the whip," Sam offers in explanation. "Apparently they haven't had it... well, ever, so..." So Sam and his big heart couldn't deny them, yeah. Dean gets it. "Uh. You okay, man?"

Dean's blinks and okay, yeah, he might be staring a little. "Yeah, I'm. I'm fine, I just." He looks at Cas. "Didn't realize you were sticking around."

Cas raises an eyebrow. "Your waffles are getting cold, Dean."

The look says, _An angel of the Lord made you waffles and you're sure as shit gonna eat 'em_.

Dean is distantly aware of other people around; there's someone at the sink digging for a spatula and two kids raiding the fridge and more people coming in behind him, lured by the smell of cooking batter. He can _feel_ Sam's eyes on him, the loaded question forming in his mouth as Dean carefully sets down the plate and steps around the table. Cas doesn't put down the measuring cup full of batter as Dean steps into his space, doesn't so much as blink.

"I can get you more whip cream if you prefer," Cas says, squinting, "but you'll have to — "

He shuts up abruptly as Dean takes him by the hip and pulls him in. He tastes like flour and coffee, which is an _awful_ combination in case anyone was wondering.

"Guys, seriously," Sam says after a minute, sounding in pain. "People are — " a beat, then a sigh of pure defeat Dean can hear perfectly well despite the distraction, "— oh, nevermind."

"You're not going anywhere," Dean says when they surface, whip cream be damned. 

"Why would I leave?" Cas says, a little breathless. 

He looks genuinely perplexed. Dean kind of wants to smack him. "Seriously?" The squint returns. "You know what? Forget it." 

Dean doesn't want an argument; the important thing is that Cas is here, and doesn't appear to be going anywhere. For now, at least. Dean'll take what he can get.

But Cas keeps squinting at him, and it's easy for Dean to forget that with his full mojo back, Cas can see a lot more with a glance than Dean's exactly comfortable with. Dean sucks in a breath as goosebumps erupt on his arm where Cas touches him, fingers light and caressing, little sparks of _something_ making his skin tingle and leaving him light-headed. 

"I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression I wished to be anywhere else," Cas says, and Dean can breathe again. "Pending any more disasters involving the universe or reality itself, I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

 _As long as you'll have me_.

What a _dick_.

"Pending any Winchester brand of stupid breaking anything, gotcha." Dean can hear the relief in his own voice, and sees Sam smile in his peripheral vision. Asshole. He’s surrounded by assholes. "Good.”

Cas gives him a real smile this time, warm and gummy, and Dean just wants to kiss him again.

"So, uh," Sam interrupts with a cough, reminding Dean that yeah, they've got an audience, "are you going to eat those, or...?"

Jack peers around the open doorway, hiding his eyes behind his hands. "Are they done? Can I look now?" He peeks without waiting for an answer, and bounds into the room with a smile when he sees the food. "Awesome! Is there more whip cream?"

Dean rolls his eyes at the look Cas gives him. "Fine," he says. "But we're taking the car."

Cas finally puts down the cup of batter, eyes bright. "Can I drive?"

He looks so damn happy that Dean can't refuse, and the indignant look on Sam's face alone is worth it as he tosses Cas the keys. "Sure, Sunshine."

. : .

**Author's Note:**

> Also, if you're over 18, you should come join the insanity at https://discord.gg/profoundbond


End file.
